Chaos Squadron
by oharrop
Summary: A reconnaissance pilot for the Rebel Alliance during the Galactic Civil War is tasked with a new mission: recruiting a rogue rebel cell known only as Chaos Squadron.
1. Chapter 1

The biting wind blew straight down Lokval Pass, whipping up clumps of frozen debris to dance fleeting on the air before being dropped again to the icy ground. It began, slowly, to snow again; fat little snowflakes falling in quick flurries, settling on the compacted snow that already blanketed the pass. In the lea of the valley, knee-high shrubs had forced their way through the ice, and stood whispering in the wind, gnarled fingers flourishing small, deep-green leaves. Mirial was beautiful, in the desolate, deadly way.

A low whistle emanated behind Harp Marama as he stared down the sights of his E-17d sniper rifle, watching three Imperial scout troopers approach his position from the far end of the pass.

'I see them.'

R2-C3, affectionately known as Tootsie, whistled again; the astromech droid's scanners were picking up something else. A short distance behind the scouts, an AT-ST shuffled into Lokval Pass, struggling over the frozen and uneven terrain. Marama swore under his breath; he hadn't counted on the Imperial's being dumb enough to try and get a walker through the steep-sided, narrow valley. The sniper slung his rifle over his back and crawled away from the ridge. He was going to need a bigger gun.

The Empire had been attempting to take Lokval Pass for a little over a week, but Marama had successfully repelled all of their camouflaged, a crack shot, and aided by Tootsie's sensors, defeating the Imperial threat on the small town behind him hadn't been too difficult. Mirial didn't have much in the way of resources or strategic value, so Marama was defending little more than liberty, but in these times, the Rebel Alliance decided every scrap of that was worth fighting for.

Once out of view, Marama stood and walked over to Tootsie who had begun whirring excitedly all of a sudden. Harp Marama was tall and thin, but strong, as though perhaps he were made of wire. He ran a hand through his unruly crop of dark hair before patting his little droid on the head, trying to calm it, for R2-C3 was babbling about a message.

'We haven't got time for messages,' Marama said softly. 'Let's get to the ship and show these plastic boys just how rough we can play.'

But Tootsie was insistent in her beeps and buzzes, and what she was saying made Marama chuckle.

'And why would Mon Mothma want to talk to me?'

The astromech's reply wrought a frown on the pilot's face and he rubbed his brow.

'Just get in and patch that through to the computer. I want to see this for myself.' Marama sighed, 'I hope Mothma knows this is a very inconvenient time.'

Harp Marama's X-Wing looked a little worse for wear. The once white hull was now more of a dirty grey, and the green decals were scorched with blast marks, but it was a fighter in fine working order and had served Marama well ever since he had joined the rebellion and gotten his wings some three years prior. The X-Wing was the standard T-65B model, modified only with a reconnaissance scanner module which was mounted on the underside of the cockpit.

As his droid was fitted into the fighter, Marama clambered up and into the cockpit, the glass hatch sealing with a hiss as he strapped himself in.

'OK, Tootsie, show me the message. Quickly. We still have a chicken walker to pluck.'

With a merry whistle from Tootsie, the message allegedly from Mon Mothma, appeared on the small onboard computer before Marama. He read it carefully, and then read it again, even more carefully. The five sentences weighed upon him greatly, as though the galaxy was suddenly pulling Harp Marama, and the rebel alliance, into a whole new direction.

Base One to Lt. Marama. Death Star destroyed. Base One compromised. Porkins KIA. Mon Mothma requesting Lt. Marama at Yavin Base immediate.

Marama gulped. One hell of a message.

'Alright,' he called out to Tootsie as he fired up the ignition. 'We can digest that in hyperspace.'

Marama eased back on the yolk and lifted the X-Wing into the air gently. He banked to the left in a wide arc, making sure to avoid the edge of the valley, and then headed up for some altitude. Marama liked to make sure he had a clear head before he flew into battle, but there wasn't much chance of that this time. He kept the X-Wing steady until he was miles high, almost out of the atmosphere, but then pushed the nose down and let her drop.

The pilot locked the foils into attack position and stamped hard on the accelerator. Tootsie screamed ecstatically; if droids could produce adrenaline, then Marama was convinced his R2-C3 was addicted to it. A grin pulled itself over Marama's lips as Lokval Pass came into view, the Imperials still struggling to march their AT-ST down it.

Fish in a barrel.

Harp Marama lit them up. A hail of blasts from his laser cannons pounded the bottom of the pass and blew away any stormtroopers on foot. Tootsie was making a noise that sounded like laughter. Marama pulled up sharply and he lurched forward in the cockpit. He strained against the yolk to pull the X-Wing into a tight curve back away from the valley; it was only fair he gave the AT-ST a chance to shoot him back. He levelled out again as they streaked back towards the enemy at tremendous speed, such tremendous speed in fact that the Imperials didn't even get a shot off before Marama let loose a proton torpedo. Lokval Pass was already behind them when the AT-ST exploded.

Tootsie beeped in Marama's ear. The astro droid's scanners were picking up a loose set of structures not too far away - the Imperial's camp.

Marama set them flying towards it, close to the ground: 'Let's leave them with a parting gift.'

A couple of RTTs were parked together close to the camp, and Marama could see that a few troopers on the ground had spotted his approach, running to an anti-aircraft turret they had managed to set up.

Tootsie squealed again as Marama jammed the X-Wing into a barrel-roll, squeezing the button atop his yolk again to send another proton torpedo into the turret, a second into the troop transports, and then, just for good measure, sent a volley of laser fire into what he took to be the command centre.

Marama allowed himself a chuckle as he closed the S-foils, heading up and away from Mirial. His face fell when he remembered the message.

'Plot a hyperspace course for Yavin. Let's see what she wants with us.'

Tootsie whirred obligingly, and their X-Wing blasted away across the galaxy.

Marama tapped his foot impatiently as he waited to be beckoned into the command centre. All around him, Base One buzzed with activity; the Death Star had been destroyed only a day before, apparently by some new farm boy, and already the rebellion were beginning to evacuate their Yavin 4 base. The Empire knew where they were now, and the rebel leaders were keen not to be sluggish in their relocation. As a band of jovial troopers passed him, Marama nodded in friendly acknowledgement, but once they had gone the pilot's jaw wound itself tight again and his teeth clenched hard against each other. For Harp Marama, the best thing about the galaxy was how empty space truly was.

Tootsie chirruped nervously beside him.

'I know, Tootsie. I do not want to be here either.'

Marama let his mind drift as he listened to the cacophony of the rebel base being taken down and packed up around him. It drifted to the fourth sentence of a transmission that would forever be etched in Marama's mind.

Porkins KIA.

Jek was gone. His mentor had been extinguished and all that was left of all the life he had once been, all that was left to answer the questions of those who survived him, was an acronym beamed across the stars: Killed In Action.

Marama hadn't known Porkins before joining up with the rebels but they were from the same planet, Bestine IV, and when the portly pilot had discovered this, Porkins had taken the young, idealistic Marama under his wing. Porkins knew as well as Marama did that Marama was the better pilot, but that never stopped Jek from trying to teach him a thing or too. Porkins had been the one to recommend Marama when a new long-distance reconnaissance agent was needed, and Marama had always been thankful for that. Marama preferred the quiet stillness, the loneliness, of his long solo recon missions, though he had always regretted never having had the opportunity to fly into combat with Jek. Harp Marama was quiet, introverted - he didn't really 'do' friends; but Jek Porkins had come pretty close.

'You can come in now.' The gruff voice of one of Mon Mothma's personal guards shattered Harp's daydreams as the fearsome-looking officer gestured for him to enter. Marama stood and strode after the guard with a purposefulness Marama hoped masked his nerves.

The command centre opened out into one of the larger rooms of Yavin 4's Great Temple, communication and intelligence officers flitting about it as they undertook their tasks in dismantling the rebellion's complex tactical apparatus. It was busy, as was the whole base, but Harp was shepherded into a quiet corner by the guard and into an alcove in which a figure he had never seen before but immediately recognised, stood by a table. Harp Marama couldn't take his eyes from Mon Mothma. She was a commanding presence and the importance of whatever this meeting was about suddenly rushed up to punch Harp in the gut.

'Good evening, Lieutenant Marama.'

The pilot could only stutter a reply. This was all very new and overwhelming. In fact, in the three years Marama had joined the rebel alliance, serving them impeccably, he had only actually met his commanding officer once, when they had gifted him Tootsie and sent him on his way - all his missions since had come in transmissions. Marama thought that he'd rather be flying straight at an Imperial Star Destroyer, than be stood here.

Marama wished he had had a chance to clean his flight suit.

Mon Mothma offered Harp a thin smile; she was probably used to this. She looked to her guard and nodded, and he turned on his heel, leaving the three of them alone. Tootsie seemed to purr quietly and Marama was thankful the little droid was standing so close. Mon Mothma sighed.

'Lieutenant Marama, you are here because the rebel alliance has just struck a tremendous victory against the Empire, but our work is far from over.'

'Yes, Ma'am.' Marama was almost surprised at hearing his own voice. He sounded like a soldier.

'The Empire will now amass the rest of their forces,' Mon Mothma continued, 'and their forces are still great. They will come for us.' She paused, looking at Marama gravely. 'We need all the help we can get. We need all of our allies.'

Mon Mothma folded her arms over her chest and turned to look over the technicians dismantling the command centre equipment.

She spoke softly, almost sadly: 'There are thousands of rebellions scattered all over the galaxy. Wherever there is the Emperor's tyranny, there are rebels. Our alliance may be the largest, but we will never truly rid ourselves of the Empire until we all band together as one united front. Whilst pockets of us may stand against the Imperial threat, isolated we will surely fail. Some, of course, are little more than terrorists we cannot align ourselves with, and others refuse to cooperate, but there are men and women still out there, still fighting, who we believe we can reach out to and join forces with.'

Marama shuffled awkwardly. He had been a part of such a group once, a group of Bestine rebels attempting vainly to sabotage the Imperial factories on his home planet. It all seemed so foolish now. Marama couldn't imagine attempting to stop the Empire without all that the alliance had provided him with.

'Our recon pilots are being tasked with new missions, Lieutenant Marama - to bring those rebel cells together. You especially know how these freedom fighters work, so I have the utmost faith in you to bring them into our fold, which is why I am sending you after a group of rebels we need more than most.

'They call themselves Chaos Squadron, a rather apt name considering the damage they have caused, and amongst them is an engineer who we believe is working on something that could prove instrumental in turning the tide against the Empire.'

'Chaos Squadron?' Marama was trying hard to sound engaged, but already he had been cooped up too long. He wanted to get going, get back in the cockpit, back amongst the stars. All this politics was not for him.

'We don't know how many of them there are exactly, but we believe there are at least four pilots.' Mon Mothma sighed deeply, 'One of them used to be on our side.'

Marama's interest piqued. Tootsie whistled.

'We sent a pilot out for the same reason we are sending you,' Mon Mothma went on, 'but evidently he got too close and decided not to come back. Gil Ardan was a damn good pilot, but it was a mistake to send someone as volatile as him on a mission that will undoubtedly require sensitivity. He was already frustrated at how little he believed we were doing, so I blame only myself for his desertion. Do not take Ardan lightly, Lieutenant Marama, I doubt he'll want to come home.'

'No, Ma'am.'

'Good. But even if they all put up a fight, remember it is only the engineer we need.'

Marama looked at Tootsie.

'Are you telling me what I think you're telling me, Ma'am?'

Mon Mothma looked away for a moment, her eyes suddenly turning cold, strategizing. Marama realised then just how difficult it was to do what she did, and how good she was at it too.

'We only need the engineer, Harp.'

Marama breathed deep and relaxed into the seat of the cockpit as the hatch closed down on him.

'Recruiting Chaos Squadron - this all sounds a little strange.'

Tootsie let out a low groan.

'Now, now. It might be fun.'

The little droid beeped in reply.

'Well, yeah. They might try and kill us.'

Marama fingered the ignition and his X-Wing shook into life. Tootsie whirred again.

'I wonder if Gold Leader's droid is as pessimistic as you?'

As the X-Wing lifted into the air, the hangar of Base One was suddenly filled with the deafening claxon of the emergency alarm and flooded with pilots running to their fighters. Marama hovered for a moment, staring out of the cockpit at the surprising burst of activity.

'What the hell is going on?'

Tootsie buzzed anxiously. The other fighters were getting airbourne too and Marama had to move out of the way. He steered his X-Wing clear and out of the hangar, still hanging low over the forests of Yavin 4 when he realised what was going on. He saw nothing at first, but heard the unmistakable screech of incoming TIE Fighters.

'Oh dear.' Tootsie jabbered in agreement.

It appeared the Empire had already launched an attack on Base One. Marama could see in the distance two Star Destroyers loitering in the atmosphere, churning out TIEs. But the defense of Yavin 4 had begun too, and Marama knew that they didn't really need to defend the base so much as give the leaders enough time to evacuate, and protect the shuttles on their way out. The sky around Marama was suddenly filled with whatever craft had survived the assault on the death star, had been made ready, or had arrived at the base since. He recognised the red and black X-Wing of another recon pilot, a Francis something or other.

Marama shouted to R2-C3: 'Patch me in!'

A babble of chatter came over the radio until a voice cut through it.

'Red Leader to all wings, fall in, repeat, fall into formation. Head the fighters off and lead them away from the base! And for crinks sake destroy the bombers!'

Marama hesitated, caught in confusion.

'Red Leader this is- Tootsie what's our call sign?' The droid screamed a reply as the rest of the X-Wings began streaking away.

'Red Leader this is Green 13, I have prior mission, do I engage? Repeat, do I engage?'

There was a moment of static. And then:

'What the krong do you think, Green 13?'

Marama didn't need to be told twice. He punched the accelerator and tore off after the others. Harp Marama counted about seven X-Wings and two or three Y-Wings against what looked like a whole garrison of TIE Fighters and bombers: he had a bad feeling about this.

Marama took a deep breath, and then he was amongst the battle.

Tootsie screeched as debris from an exploded X-Wing struck them. Not a good start. Marama banked hard and got behind a TIE bomber making its way to the base, quickly gaining on the slower moving Imperial craft. He pulled the trigger and blasted the bomber until his cannons were overheating. Marama pulled away, letting them cool, as the bomber dropped out of the sky and crashed in a fiery ball.

Harp Marama yanked back on the yoke and flung his fighter into a loop over itself, coming up behind a TIE Fighter chasing another X-Wing. Marama fired, striking the TIE on the left of its vertical wings, but not downing it, giving the enemy pilot enough time to manoeuvre out of the line of fire.

A crackle came over the radio: 'Thanks, Green 13. Thought he had me there.'

Tootsie squeaked cheerfully, but knew as well as Marama did this was not the time to rest on their laurels. The pilot flung their X-Wing around again, pulling back on the yoke to give them some altitude.

One of their Y-Wings was making for the enemy Star Destroyer, seemingly having made its way through the mass of TIEs that swarmed like angry bees. Marama watched him go, but said nothing; there was no point engaging anything other than the fighters and bombers, they only needed to buy time for the evacuation, not prove themselves as heroes. Marama ignored the errant pilot and stuck his X-Wings nose after the nearest TIE.

Harp squeezed the trigger and caught the TIE dead centre, exploding the cockpit. He raced through the debris and flames and pumped the brakes, arcing round enough to catch another enemy fighter in his sights, destroying it with a quick blast from his laser cannons. Tootsie alerted him to another bomber making a break for Base One and Marama threw his fighter into a tight spin, eyeing the enemy craft for a moment, and then pushing down on the bright red button atop his yoke. A proton torpedo shot out and obliterated the TIE bomber.

'This is Red 5, Red 5! I've got one I can't shake!'

Marama twisted to see an X-Wing trying to evade a belligerent TIE. Red 5 was pretty good, thought Marama, but the Imperial in the TIE was better. Tootsie buzzed excitedly as Marama chucked his X-Wing into a barrel roll and clamped his foot down on the accelerator, making for the fighter after his comrade. Marama rolled in just behind the TIE and let loose a volley of laser fire, tearing through one of the limbs between the TIEs wings and its cockpit. The TIE spun wildly out of control, plummeting to the surface of Yavin 4. Marama thought about what Porkins had once told him: it's not about how many enemies you shoot down, it's about how many friends you get home.

Suddenly, Mon Mothma's voice was in Marama's ear: 'Lieutenant, don't you have a more pressing mission?'

His X-Wing shook as the distracted Marama caught stray fire. He pushed the fighter into a nosedive, and then tugged the yoke back, coming under another TIE and blasting it to pieces from below.

'More pressing than defending the base?' Marama had lost all his nerves and decorum in the heat of battle.

'I told you we needed friends, Marama. Get to your assigned mission immediately.'

Coordinates for a route through hyperspace blinked onto Marama's computer, and Tootsie whirred, offering to make the jump.

'No. No! Hang on!' Marama hit the accelerator again as he realised another two bombers had gotten through, this time accompanied by a couple of fighters. But as he came back on the base, Mon Mothma's voice needled his ear again, much more impatient this time.

'That is an order, Marama!'

Marama shot down one of the fighters before they realised an X-Wing was on their tail, but the second peeled off before he could shoot that one too. He sent another proton torpedo into the back of one of the bombers - overkill, admittedly, but the bombers needed bringing down fast. He caught the second one on the fuselage with a quick burst of his laser cannons, but as he watched it fall out of the sky, his X-Wing shook and the droid behind him screamed. The other TIE was now behind him.

Marama craned his neck to look for it unsuccessfully, and then sighed, overly dramatically for Mon Mothma's benefit.

'Fine!'

The pilot drew his X-Wing into a tight loop-the-loop, levelled out, and shouted instruction to R2-C3.

'Let's go, Tootsie! Now, now, now!'

His astro-droid cooed and whistled, and blasted them into hyperspace, leaving the TIE fighter shooting at nothing, and abandoning the battle for Base One.


	2. Chapter 2

He felt the connection to all things around him. Endless night enveloped him in cocoon and a thousand stars were scattered across another cosmos on the inside of his eyelids. He breathed deep, feeling the cool breeze fill his nostrils. Through the thick, damp soil, he felt the lifeforce of the giant trees racing through their roots, felt their leaves shivering in the same wind that did so fill him with an energy anew, felt the foliage beneath them arch to drink up the hot sun. His homeworld welcomed him with sweet embrace and through him coursed all its infinite power.

In a range invisible, he saw her.

The Scorekeeper trod carefully through the undergrowth, her footsteps creating no sound. She was so beautiful.

'I am with you,' she whispered, The Scorekeeper's voice floating down ethereally as to have been solar wind amongst the galaxy.

Bossk awoke. The hunt was on.

Harp Marama emerged from hyperspace above the planet of Neimoidia. He hesitated, keeping his X-Wing just outside the planet's orbit; Neimoidia was not particularly a place Marama wanted to go. The pilot eyed the land masses of dusty brown and light green suspiciously, as though the continents of this planet, so steeped in bitter hatred, might suddenly rearrange themselves into a set of ravenous jaws that would devour his little craft whole. They did not.

'I thought Neimoidia was under quarantine?'

Marama's astro-droid, R2-C3, let out a string of beeps and whistles. Tootsie, as the droid was known, diverted their masters eyes from the planet to the small moon orbiting it: Nei 1. The moon looked much as the planet did, except considerably smaller and home to far fewer oceans.

'The moon? Are you sure?'

Tootsie honked.

'Alright, alright,' Marama conceded.

He nudged the yoke over to the left and set the X-Wing on a course for Nei 1, bringing it gently through the moon's orbit, and into its atmosphere.

'Are we really expecting to find anybody here? Is the air even breathable?'

Tootsie chirruped merrily.

'Well I appreciate that,' Marama smiled, 'I meant for me.'

Marama remained in cloud cover, not wanting to get too close to the surface, just in case Chaos Squadron really were here and wanted to blow him out of the sky. He scoffed, this whole mission felt ridiculous; the Empire was bearing down over what remained of the rebel alliance and here he was, probably one of their better pilots, wasted on trying to find a rogue cell of rebels on the special orders of Mon Mothma. Marama didn't even know what he was looking for, not really - Chaos Squadron could start blasting at him any second and he wouldn't even know it unless they politely identified themselves first. And besides, Mon Mothma had said one of them was a deserter, why should they even want to rejoin with the rebellion. Marama sighed.

'Set the recon unit to scan for any ships down there,' he called out to Tootsie. 'And it might be worth surveying beneath the surface. I don't know how clever this Chaos Squadron are supposed to be, but they probably don't want to be found. Why else would that set up base next to Neimoidia,' he added under his breath.

Tootsie activated the reconnaissance scanner module and readings began to flitter through Marama's onboard computer unit. The clouds began to break so Marama eased the X-Wing a little higher, adjusting the scanner accordingly.

Almost as soon as he had, Marama's astro-droid began whirring excitedly. The scanners had picked something up.

'Gozanti-class?!' Marama tilted the X-Wing on its axis and leaned over to stare through the parting clouds at the surface of Nei 1. All his muscles seemed to clench up at what he saw; droids and scanners don't lie, and beneath them, parked on the surface of the moon, was a Gozanti-class cruiser.

Marama's mind began to reel. Either they had already discovered Chaos Squadron, and the rogue cell was much better armed than they thought, or they were flying right over an idling Imperial cruiser. Neither, Marama realised, was good news. Tootsie squeaked agitatedly.

'I don't know, Let me think!'

Suddenly the radio burst into life, and Marama's ear was filled with an angry buzz - they were being hailed.

'Don't think we can't see you up there,' a gravelly voiced drawled. 'We told The Witch no funny business, so the deal's off.'

Marama's cockpit filled with static. He didn't reply. He didn't know what to say. Thankfully, another voice cut in.

'This is The Witch, you pirate scum. Little green X-Wing up there - he's not one of ours. Bring the spy down.'

Marama's little green X-Wing shook as a blast from the Gozanti's laser turrets came awfully close to blowing off his wing. Evidently the cruiser belonged neither to Chaos Squadron, nor the Empire, but to pirates.

'Turn off the scanner, Tootsie,' Marama shouted as tipped the yoke back, hoisting the fighter higher, away from the cruiser below. 'Trouble found us.'

Marama barrel rolled as another blast from the Gozanti almost hit them. Tootsie screamed. The pilot kept the X-Wing climbing, higher and higher, until they were out of range. Marama let them hang in the air for a moment, just out of reach. He took a deep breath; in these seconds at the top of the pendulum, everything seemed clearer. And then Harp Marama let them drop like a stone.

He stamped the accelerator, locked the foils in attack position and plummeted toward the surface of the moon so fast it made pod-racing look like a sport for old Banthas. As the Gozanti came back into view, Marama flung his X-Wing into a corkscrew and rocketted a proton torpedo into the cruiser. Tootsie whistled with glee. Marama levelled out and the X-Wing barrelled past the larger cruiser at top speed. The pilot kept his fighter close to the ground, where the parked Gozanti's laser turret wouldn't be able to hit him. He spun the X-Wing around in a tight loop and set it speeding toward the cruiser that hadn't bothered to get airborne yet. Clearly the pirates thought they stood a better chance if they stayed put, rather than lose out to the small snubfighter's ariel agility if they engaged it in the skies. They were half right, Marama thought, but half-right is still wrong.

Harp Marama squeezed the trigger and a barrage from his laser cannons hit the Gozanti's front landing gear, tipping the large cruiser nose first into the ground. They'd never get off the ground now. He arced the X-Wing around again, sending another proton torpedo to blast into the pirate's ship; he'd need to hit it a couple more times before he totally destroyed the shielding that covered the main hull, but he could already see a group of pirates abandoning ship and running clear. Marama smiled - sometimes it was just too easy.

Boom!

The X-Wing began spiralling out of control and Marama had only moments to yank ineffectually back on the yoke before he crashed into the ground and everything went black.

Marama couldn't see anything, but his other senses were overcompensating. He could feel a liquid he took to be blood running down his face, could feel the scratch of a coarse bag over his head, could feel the rough rope that bound his hands behind his back. Marama could hear the groans of injured people around him and rattling as whatever ship he was in now as it came to land. And Marama could smell that the last person to have this bag over their head had died in it.

A strong hand grabbed Marama's shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Light filtered through the weave of the bag as he was pushed off his captor's ship and onto the hard ground. Marama was forced to his knees and felt someone else pushed down beside him, someone Marama inferred was one of the pirates he had sent fleeing moments before being shot down himself.

'Let me see them.' The same voice as the one that had identified themselves as The Witch over Marama's radio and encouraged the pirates to shoot him down barked out this instruction.

The bag was ripped from Marama's head and he blinked in the bright light, blinded for a moment. He stared at a small pebble on the ground in front of him, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and then looked up to see just what was going on.

He must be in the lair of Chaos Squadron.

Harp Marama was in a small, makeshift camp. Benches and a variety of pots and pans sat around a central firepit, which was encompassed on three sides by several lean-to structures. The first, to his left, he took to be a barracks of some kind, seeing bed mats through the canvas doorway that flapped in the wind. The barracks was small, a single piece of corrugated metal made for the roof, seemingly held up by thick sticks with tarp sheets hung between them. The second structure was an open-sided command centre, of a kind, and very outdated technical equipment huddled around a table with large maps on it. The command centre, as well as the archaic computers, housed a rather modern R3 unit, which made Marama a little nervous; R3 units were designed specifically for military bases and such operations, and the pilot was uneager to test his strategizing ability against such a high-functioning droid. The final little shed was obviously a latrine.

Marama looked over his shoulder. The ship he had just been hauled out of was a scruffy-looking U-Wing, and through the open door of the U-Wing's hold, he saw a fearsome protocol droid standing inside, staring right at him. Marama turned away.

He glanced down the line at his fellow captives; they were indeed the pirates. They looked to be in a sorry state, filthy, as most pirates are, but pretty beat up too, as though the shielding on their stolen Gozanti-class cruiser wasn't as strong as Marama had thought. Marama felt a pang of guilt, but then turned his attention to his captors.

Marama counted four, and with the droid behind him, and the R3 unit, that made six, but he felt sure there must be others elsewhere. The figure furthest from him was shrouded in a long, hooded cloak, and was clearly in command. Marama took them to be The Witch. Stood in front of them was a huge Iktotchi in a blue flight suit stained with oil and grease. Perhaps, Marama thought, this was the engineer. Beside the Iktotchi, and with a huge, manic grin on her face was a human woman wearing the helmet of an A-Wing pilot. The woman's eyes were scouring the line of captives, almost urging one of them to try and run; her fingers twitched over a blaster on her hip. When Marama turned to eye the final captor, stood right in front of him, the human male punched Marama square in the face, knocking him back into the dirt. This, Marama deduced, must be the volatile defector Mon Mothma had warned him about: Gil Ardan. Harp Marama spat a glob of blood out of his mouth.

The cloaked figure stepped forward and removed their hood. The Witch was an ancient, proud-looking Neimoidian woman, wearing very strange attire that Marama had no doubt contributed to her being called The Witch. Marama sighed internally; dealing with Neimoidians was notoriously difficult. Hell, trying to deal with this stuck-up species of galactic parasite was what started the kriffing Clone Wars!

The Neimoidian pointed at Marama and another of the pirates: 'Kill the rest.'

The big Iktotchi put his hand over his face and Marama squeezed shut his eyes as he listened to eight blaster shots, eight screams, and then finally stillness. When he opened them again, Gil Ardan was standing right over him. The defector spat on Marama, and then turned to skulk off into the barracks.

The Witch gestured to the droid behind Marama.

'Tie these two to the stake,' she snarled, 'and then dump the bodies.'

The droid said nothing, only nodded once.

The sun was beginning to set on the moon of Neimoidia. Dusk swept across the desolate landscape of the moon, and in a funny sort of way it reminded Marama of Mirial. Coarse, rocky sand rode in shallow dunes, sparsely flecked with tall, narrow plants of a sickly green colour. A shallow brook babbled not far from his captors camp, and ran down to a stagnant pool just beyond the dunes. Marama was tidied to a stake in the ground on a rise just above the camp and could see the surrounding area much better from atop the slight incline. It was a little foolish of his abductors to have tied him up here, Marama calculated, as he could now see the breadth of their domain - and it was pitiful.

The camp he had seen earlier, was pretty much it, and he had deduced there were only the six of them he had seen originally, plus two more astro-droids; neither of them, worryingly, was his own, Tootsie. Beyond the camp however, were their ships: the U-Wing he had been taken in, an A-Wing, that he assumed the female human piloted based on her gear, a Y-Wing, and two X-Wings, one of them basically scrap. Again, his own ship was nowhere to be seen. One of the X-Wings was painted in the unmistakable black and white colour scheme of the Partisans, the infamous Saw Gerrera's terrorist group. Marama had a pretty good idea which of Chaos Squadron used to work with the crazy Saw, but he lamented that Mon Mothma had failed to tell him Gil Ardan had defected once from the Partisans to the rebel alliance, and then again to Chaos Squadron. That might have been a useful thing to know.

Harp Marama shook his head clear, trying to focus not on what ifs and could haves, but on the moment, on trying to escape alive. Very quickly he was realising Chaos Squadron were not to be trifled with and would be unlikely to want to rejoin the rebellion. A loose, improbably plan formed in Marama's mind; if he could get free of the stake, perhaps he could knock out the Iktotchi, who he was still betting on being the engineer, get him into the U-Wing, and steal it to fly back to Mon Mothma.

Marama sighed. There was no way that was going to work. Besides, he wasn't going to leave Tootsie behind.

The prisoner with whom Marama was tied back-to-back around the stake fidgeted against the rope. The surviving pirate was a large, black-haired Wookie, and although Marama did not speak Wookie, he was assuming his new friend was probably not all that sweet on Marama. It was, after all, Marama reminded himself, sort of his fault the pirates were in this mess in the first place. Or pirate, rather - Chaos Squadron had killed the rest.

Marama looked back over his shoulder, whispering to the Wookie: 'Hey, friend. Look I don't speak your tongue so help me out here. Two growls if you're willing to work together to get out of here.'

The Wookie uttered no noise.

Tootsie had had the foresight to eject herself from the X-Wing before it crashed. She didn't really know why her master hadn't done the same. But then again, all humans are pretty dumb. Tootsie had landed in a dense thicket of shrubbery and had kept quiet as a scary-looking protocol droid hauled her unconscious pilot away. Now though, as darkness grew around the little droid, she felt it was safe to come out.

R2-C3 stared at their downed X-Wing. The damage wasn't actually too bad. The nose cone was in pretty bad shape, and there was scratching on the underbelly from the crash, and there was a nasty gash across one of the wings where they had been shot down, but mercifully the blast had missed the engines. Tootsie made a quick calculation; she was fairly positive she could fix it enough to fly.

The droid had a choice to make. Tootsie could stay and repair the ship, or she could go looking for Marama. A panel on her head dome flicked open and her sensor protruded from the gap. She scanned as far as she could. There was a blip on the horizon, a collection of life forms. Marama could be amongst them.

Tootsie let out a long whistle. She decided to stay and fix the ship.

Marama woke to the sound of screaming. In the darkness, he saw the fire that lay in the middle of the camp was now a huge inferno, and before it stood the Neimoidian witch, her arms outstretched to the heavens, screaming in a blood-curdling tongue Marama didn't recognise. The rest of Chaos Squadron sat nearby, watching, and even the protocol droid was captivated. Despite this, Marama believed this wasn't the first time they had seen The Witch do this; how did one get such a name if not for undertaking strange rituals in the middle of the night.

It was at that point that Marama realised the restraints around him were not so tight, and he could breathe a little better. His heart began to pound as he looked over his shoulder and realised the reason for this was because he was no longer tied to a Wookie. The pirate had escaped. He had escaped and left Marama sleeping there.

Marama tried successfully to stand, the ropes which had once held him simply fell off. He noticed footprints in the sand, Wookie tracks, running off away from the camp, out amongst the dunes. Evidently the Wookie had bolted. Marama's eyes flitted over the scene before him as he tried to determine a course of action.

Run for the X-Wing, he thought.

Marama threw himself into a sprint. He ran around the outside of the camp, keeping as quiet as he could. He skirted past the Y-Wing, too slow, past the A-Wing, too dangerous, and past the scrapped X-Wing, unflyable. Marama skidded to a halt before the black and white former Cavern Angel's X-Wing he was about to steal, and threw a look over his shoulder. The protocol droid was staring right at him. He couldn't take his eyes away as the droid slowly stood, pointed a finger at Marama and then began to run towards him.

Finally, the pilot snapped out of it and he clambered up onto the X-Wing, hauling open the cockpit and throwing himself inside. Just as the glass hatch closed, the fist of droid slammed into it.

Marama hit the ignition as Chaos Squadron began shouting furiously, realising what was happening. The fighter shook itself into life with a jarring rumble; it was a little older than the one Marama was used to flying, and it didn't have all the bells and whistles, but so long as it got him the skrog out of there he didn't care.

As he pulled off the ground, he realised the protocol droid was still attached to the ship, staring straight through the cockpit at him. Marama smiled. The droid did not.

Marama tried to step on the accelerator and shoot out of there, but slowly realised that he couldn't. He tried his hardest, but foot wouldn't do as it was told. He tried to squeeze the trigger, but his hands wouldn't listen to him either. He was frozen, paralysed. Marama felt his tongue swell in his mouth. He was going to pass out. With all the strength he had he tried to roll the hovering X-Wing away from the camp, but he just could not move. It was as though his blood had thickened and solidified in his veins and his brain was slipping down his spine.

Suddenly, a huge spotlight fell on Chaos Squadron's camp, illuminating it all in brilliant white light. The Neimoidian witch looked away from Marama and her magic relinquished him.

As feeling rushed back into Marama's body he realised what was happening: an AT-AT was standing over the camp. The protocol droid, and the rest of Chaos Squadron, distracted again, Marama hit the pedal and the X-Wing flung itself away from them all, the droid falling off in the process.

Marama's mind was a jumble. He had no idea what was going on, and he wished very much that someone would explain it to him. As Marama pointed the X-Wing in the direction the Wookie had run, Mon Mothma appeared in Marama's mind. He sighed and threw the X-Wing around, back toward the damn camp: he couldn't say he didn't even try and complete his mission.

In the confusion of Marama's attempted escape and the Imperial's surprise attack, stormtroopers had stormed the camp and were now engaged in a firefight with Chaos Squadron. Marama hoped they would be thankful for some air cover, and not just tie him up again.

Marama pulled the trigger and his laser cannons sent a torrent of fire down upon the stormtroopers. He flicked the X-Wing into a turn as he flew low over the camp, seeing the AT-AT turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye. He zig-zagged and evaded blasts from the walker's huge cannons, coming back around and flicking the X-Wing up and over the AT-ATs back. He rolled into a tight loop-the-loop and came streaking down on the AT-AT before it realised where he was.

He knew from experience there were two weak points on the big walkers.

Marama lit up his cannons again and sent a volley of laser fire into the Armoured Transports neck, disabling any movement of the head. He jammed the X-Wing into a tight spin easing off on the speed a little, getting as close to the walker as he dared before firing on the knee joints of its back legs. Marama tipped the X-Wing vertical to avoid the walker as it came crashing down. He arced up high, turned the fighter around again, and then fired a proton torpedo into the head of the AT-AT, exploding it in a huge eruption of flame and debris.

Marama hoped Chaos Squadron would be thankful.

Against his better judgement, Marama bought the black and white X-Wing to rest exactly where he had stolen it from, popped the hatch, and allowed himself a brief sigh, before getting out and putting his hands on his head.

'Don't shoot!'

Thankfully, nobody did. In fact, Chaos Squadron were almost smiling at him.

The Neimoidian woman patted the big Iktotchi on the back, bodies of stormtroopers littering the ground behind them and the wreckage of the AT-AT having destroyed their latrine:

'Just as you foresaw, my friend. Just as you foresaw.'


End file.
